Monsters
by Tristripe
Summary: AU - The night he lost his family, Toris was forced to keep a dark secret about himself. However, there are others like him out there, seeking each other out so they don't have to be alone in a world that would only see them as monsters.
1. Prologue:  Fate in the Snow

**A/N:** Good lord, I fell in love with Hetalia the moment America opened his mouth on the very first episode (and that was the dub version – god bless Netflix or else I would never have discovered Hetalia). Soooo many characters, soooo many possibilities. I fell in love with each country as they came onto the screen. I wanted to write something, but could not come up with something worthy of the characters.

And then one night it came to me. The concept might be a little cliché, sorta x-man/hero-ish. People born with superhuman powers. However, this is neither a crossover nor fusion. There will be some historical parallels, and some deviations….basically I'm just trying to tell a good story ^_^

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine. I speak neither Russian nor Lithuanian, so the translations are curtsey of Google.

**Summary:** AU - The night he lost his family, Toris was forced to keep a dark secret about himself. However, there are others like him out there, seeking each other out so they don't have to be alone in a world that would only see them as monsters.

**Pairings:** Russia/Lithuania…and more….

**Warnings: **This is not a very nice story. Violence of both superpower and human kind. Nonconsensual sexual situations, some that might include minors. Drug use, gangs, and prostitution…

**Chapter Warning: **Blood.

Go forth and enjoy! And tell me what you think! I love hearing from readers!

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><p><strong>Monsters<strong>  
><em>Prologue: Fate in the Snow<em>

"By heaven, he echoes me,  
>As if there were some monster in his thought<br>Too hideous to be shown."  
><em>William Shakespeare<em>

There was cold, there was darkness, and there was pain. It pierced through his skull and ripped through his body, pieces of him strewn about like shattered glass. He could feel parts of him scattered around, far away yet so close, and it was _agony_. He was torn apart; bits here and there, separated when he was supposed to be molded together, whole, and warm. It was overwhelming, terrifying, unwanted.

He wanted the pain to stop, the darkness to be lifted.

So Toris _willed_ it.

Slowly, agonizingly, the parts of himself bent to his command, coming together and solidifying into one whole being. The pain slowly eased and warmth oozed into his broken joints so that he could feel his frigid fingers spasm, the soft beat of his heart, the chill of the winter wind in his hair.

And when Toris opened his eyes, it was night.

He was curled in a crumbled mass on the floor of the car, the carpet itching at his cheek. His head felt heavy and sticky, his fingers caked as if he had played in mud, soiling all his clothes. He should have been sitting in his seat, clean. He should be asking _Motina_1 and _Tėvas_2 how long till they got home, because it was late and he was tired. He did not like falling asleep in the car, cause then _Tėvas_ would lift him like a child, and _Motina_ would tuck him in and kiss his cheek even though he was too old for such displays.

"_M…__Motina...?__"_ he called; shuddering as he felt like his mouth was glued. He choked, feeling his stomach heave as he felt as he tasted something metallic, dry and flakey like a scab.

Something cold touched his cheek, and carefully Toris turned his head. The window above him was broken, glass shards poking from the rim, snow fluttering in though the opening.

It was cold, and the window was _broken_.

"_Tėvas...!__" _He cried out, pushing up on his elbows. _" Tėv...__ "_He stopped.

A hand lay on his lap, wide and large, with light brown hair brushing the top, and a gold band on the finger. A hand, simply a hand, _Tėvas's_ hand, on him, bleeding on him, severed on him, _Tėvas's_ hand.

Toris screamed, his arms flailed knocking the limb off him, his feet kicked out in complete panic. The hand rolled sluggishly under the driver's seat, yet even in the dark Toris could see his father's dead fingers curled. He screamed again, twisted, hands grasping for the doorknob. He could see now, the sticky stuff on his hands was dark and red. Blood. There was blood on his hands.

The door flew open, and Toris upper body fell right over, face and arms slamming into ice cold snow. He lurched up, gasping for breath, and twisted to untangle his body. He froze, eyes widening out of their sockets and filling with tears.

_They had been driving back home. Motina, Tėvas and him. They had gone to a shopping center, Tėvas had complained, but smiled, and Motina had convinced him to take them out to dinner. It was fun, and late and snowing. Tėvas cursed, and Motina laughed, and Toris wanted to be home soon so he could sleep in his bed._

His mother was arched backwards, her body completely pierced through by a giant pillar of ice that came from beneath the car. _Motina's_ brown wavy hair was ruffling in the winter wind, her cheeks, pale things were glistening as snowflakes gently kissed them. Another pillar had come from the driver's side, so large was the ice that there was nothing left of the top half of the driver's seat and _Tėvas_, its sharp lethal edge having been driven all the way back, through the back seats and into the trunk of the car...

...where Toris had been sitting...

There was blood, dark and thick blood everywhere. Coating the ice, covering the husks of his parents. Pieces of flesh and bone were everywhere. Hair, clothing, bloodied completely.

Toris scrambled back, and he watched in horror as blood trailed off his clothes into the snow, staining the white in red.

"_Ne...Ne...aš bijau... aš bijau!__"_3

He was scared. Scared. He wanted to go home...he wanted to go _home_...

Frozen hands came up to his mouth, covering them, sealing his screams as more threatened to come out as he stared at his family's car, completely peirced through by two large mountains of ice that sprang from the snowly ground.

And then he noticed it...the headlights of the car were still on, illuminating the snow covered road, the snowflakes sparkling like fairies in the light. There, just a few feet from the front of the car there was a small figure huddled curled in the ground.

Shaking, Toris managed to climb up to his feet. He could feel the snow melt into his shoes. He had worn sneakers not his boots even though _Motina_ had warned him that it would not protect him from the snow. Slowly, he took a few steps forward, keeping his eyes trained on the figure rather than the massacre in his family's car. One foot in front of the other, blood red in the snow, sticking to his fingers, and caked to his face. He could taste it in his mouth now, and dry in his coat collar and shirt. He was drenched in it, heavy and sticky in it...

...yet there was no pain...

...just the shaking...and the terror...and he was covered in _blood_...

As he approuched the figure, he started to hear a young voice speaking, "_Не моя вина_4_…__Не моя вина_…" It was foreign sounding, yet somehow familiar. The closer he got the more he could hear it clearly, _"__Не моя вина__…__ Не моя вина__…not my fault…"_

It was a boy, small statured, with white blondish hair whose bangs fell over his eyes sloppily. His eyes were shut tight, and he was curled over his knees in the snow. He wore rags, torn and overlarge, and Toris could smell that he was unwashed from where he stood. Small hands were buried in his hair, and Toris could see that there were ungloved, and bruised on top of the hand and at the wrists.

Suddenly Toris's knees buckled and he fell once more into the snow, feeling a wave of nausea and dizziness. His stomach twisted painfully, as if his insides were completely frozen, and he doubled over, brown hair falling over his face, his nose nearly touching the icy snow, his breath puffing out of him as he tried to breath. He shut his eyes, tears leaking out of them.

"_Sustabdykite_,"5 he gasped as he felt the cold burn into his veins.

"_Not my fault…not my fault…"_

He was dying. He could feel it as the cold spread up to his chest. He could feel his heart struggling to beat as ice crept closer to it, to stop it, to kill it, to kill _him_…

"_STOP IT RIGHT NOW!" _He screamed it, screamed so loud that his voice echoed over the snow frosted trees that stood darkly witnessing the scene. His voice felt torn, yet his voice carried, his heart bursting, and the ice within him receded leaving him burned yet chilled to his very core.

He did not move, to shaken by whatever had just attacked him to even look up. Suddenly, he felt small fingers touching the top of his head, running through his hair, and trailing down to his face. Toris managed to lift his head up; trembling as his insides slowly thawed, and found himself staring into a pair of magnificent purple eyes.

"_Довольно_,"6 the boy whispered, eyes wide in awe as his cold fingers continued to run over Toris's face. "You're so…so warm!"

Looking at him now, Toris could see that the boy was not much younger than him. His face still round with baby fat.

"Are…are you hurt?" The boy suddenly asked, pale brows knotting as he drew back. His white ice hands came back red. Blood. Toris still had blood on him.

"No…" he replied back, his voice breaking and eyes filling with tears. "Are you?" he asked.

"Нет,"7 the boy shook his head, one hand coming up to brush at Toris's cheeks.

Toris took in a shuddering breath, "T…that's good. But _Motina_ and _Tėvas _…they…they're hurt…" he swallowed a sob, and brought one hand up to scrub at his eyes and rub at his nose.

The boy looked away, eyes gazing at the wreckage in front of them. "They're dead…" he stated.

Something deep inside Toris broke at those soft spoken words, yet he could not even voice a denial. This time he did not even try to hold back the tears as he sobbed out, "Y…yeah…"

The boy's small hands continued to stroke his face and hair, wiping the tears that would not stop, and brushing up straggles of blood caked hair. Toris could not muster a protest when the boy took some snow and rubbed it over his cheeks and hair, gently scrubbing the blood and tears from his skin.

After a few moments Toris was able to control his grief, calming down to a hiccup as the other boy leaned in, staring right into his eyes. "You're alive," he said, "and warm."

Toris nodded his head, moving his hands and gently removing the other boy's hands from his face. "I don't know …there was blood…everywhere…" His whole body shook and he shut his eyes to force the gruesome images away.

"You're just like me…"

Toris blinked, startled as he looked at the younger boy who was still staring transfixed at his face, fingers once again coming up to finger his chin and then drifting up to toych around the edges of his eyes. The boy's odd purple eyes shimmered with wonder, as if he were trying to memorize Toris's face and engrave it into his heart. "You're alive," the boy repeated, "and warm, and so _pretty._" He left Toris's face and took hold of one of his hands, lifting it from the snow to rub his cheek against it, ignoring the blood and ice that was still there. "You're like me," he said, a small smile stretching across his colorless lips, snow falling to his pale cheeks like tears, "I'm not dead, 'cause I'm like you. We're together."

"What -"

A shot rang through the air, startling them. They shot to their feet, and when Toris took a step towards the sound, he was yanked back. He stumbled, and looked at the other boy who began to drag him back towards the wreckage.

"Wait…" he stuttered. "We need help…there's someone who can help..!"

When he tried to pull back he was startled by the force in which the younger boy pulled him forward. "Нет!" the boy shook his head fiercely, a frown marring his brows and pulling down at his young face seriously.

As it became obvious that the strange boy was pulling him right TO the wrecked car, Toris began to struggle in earnest, his other hand flying and trying to pry at the other boy's hold icy. "_Ne_! I don't want to go back!" he cried.

All sounds were swallowed when Toris watched the boy waved up his rag covered hand, red wounded fingers spread out, and on the descent down, the giant ice pillars slowly sang back down into the snow. Toris's family car sank down to rest securely on the iced over ground, two massive holes piercing through it like swiss cheese.

Toris nearly swallowed his tongue when the other boy pulled him all the way back to the open backseat door. Grabbing onto the front of Toris's coat, he flung him backwards, so that the back of his knees collided with the entrance and he fell backwards into the backseat floor. His elbow knocked into something, and when he looked he saw his father's hand.

He lurched forward, letting out a yell which was muffled by the hand of the other boy who pushed him back down and held him in place as he thrashed in terror.

"Shh…shh!" The younger boy hushed him, eyes becoming frigid icicles, "There are bad men coming. They've been after me for a long, long time, and want to hurt me. Do you want them to find me?"

Toris stopped his struggles, blinking back tears and shaking his head. "No," he managed from behind the boy's iron grip. And it was the truth, this strange boy who could command the ice, he did not want bad men to touch.

The boy loosened his harsh hold, instead letting his arms come around Toris's neck, pulling him into an awkward embrace. "We're friends, да?"8

"_Taip_,"9 They were. The moment he felt those cold fingers and saw those odd eyes, he knew it.

The boy's eyes warmed up at this, and he rubbed his face into Toris's neck, his cold nose pressing affectionately into his flesh. "Don't let them know that I was here," the boy whispered gently into Toris's ear. "Don't let them know that you got hurt. If they catch me, they'll hurt me again." He lifted his head up so that he could look right down at Toris. "They will hurt you too if they know what you can do."

And Toris understood immediately what those cryptic words meant. Why he was covered in blood yet there was no pain.

And again, Toris could not doubt this strange boy. "It…it's a secret," he said.

The pale boy smiled. "Yes, a secret."

He pulled away, and Toris shuddered as the boy stepped back. He stood alone in the snow, his overlarge torn clothes fluttering in the wind like a torn flag, the snow flowing around him as if in dance. And then suddenly he turned and was gone, as if the winter itself swallowed him whole.

Toris lay curled in the car, his back to bodies of his family, his knees tucked into his belly, and arms wrapped around himself. He kept his eyes gazing out into the dark road, watching as the snow accumulated and the wind blew to cover all traces of strange boy's existence.

He continued to stare, even when men in black cars and black suites drove up to the wreckage and pulled him out. Even when they wrapped him in a blanket, and someone gave him bitter coffee from a canteen, he continued to look at the spot where the boy once stood. And when he was questioned about what happened, and if he had seen anyone else, Toris finally looked straight up into those adult faces and shook his head.

He didn't see anyone. He didn't know anything.

It was a secret.

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><p><strong>AN: **Yay! Prologue is finished! I hope it intrigued you! I am a diehard Russ/Liet fan, and my writing tends to lean more to the dark and twisted aspects of their relationship. If you liked this story, then click the wonderful little button on the bottom of the page and REVIEW! Trust me, it makes us writers happy.

^_^ See...HAPPY!

**Translations:**

1 Motina – Mother in Lithuanian

2 Tėvas – Father in Lithuanian

3 Ne...Ne...aš bijau... aš bijau_ – _Lithuanian "No...no...I am afraid...I am afraid."

4 Не моя вина_ – _Russian "Not my fault."

5 Sustabdykite_ – _Lithuanian "Stop it"

6 Довольно_ – _Russian "Pretty"

7 Нет – Russian "No"

8 Да – Russian "yes"

9 Taip – Lithuanian "yes"


	2. Chapter 1: Fields of Gold

**A/N:** Chapter one already here. Yay.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine. I speak neither Russian nor Lithuanian, so the translations are curtsey of Google.

**Pairings:** Russia/Lithuania…and more….

**Warnings: **This is not a very nice story. Violence of both supernatural and human kind. Nonconsensual sexual situations, some that might include minors. Drug use, gangs, and prostitution…

**Chapter Warning: **Insinuated child abuse/brainwashing, violence and blood. Feliks being his fabulous self.

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><p><strong>Monsters<strong>  
><em>Chapter One: Fields of Gold<em>

"A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?"  
><em>Albert Einstein<em>

The whole world could fit into two paper bags. Two pairs of pants, underwear, socks, and three shirts (two white ones, and one with buttons and collar for special occasions). One toothbrush wrapped in toilet paper, a box of pencils with one blue ink pen. The eraser had been lost earlier that week. One old children's book written in Lithuanian: _Gediminas and the Iron Wolf._

Toris had outgrown his coat, and come winter he would require a new one. Perhaps this time someone will ask what color he liked, and he would respond, _I like green._

Two paper bags. That's all he really needed.

Toris was accustomed to keeping his personal belongings minimal. Parentless, and with no family having stepped forward at their deaths, he was placed into the 'System' and passed on from house to house, family to family. He learned not to form too many close attachments, for sometimes word came overnight that he would need to move. Keeping his personal affects close and easy at hand assured that nothing precious would be left behind. It hadn't always been bad. Some families were quite kind, taking him along with them as if he were their own. There were gentle hands on his head, paternal pats on his shoulder, and warm meals ready on the table.

However, it was bad when he was sent to stay with families who wanted nothing to do with Toris. They were rarely outwardly cruel, it was just the treated him with distance and coldness. Like one would treat a temporary guest that had overstayed his welcome as soon as his worn shoe stepped through the threshold.

Toris was not saddened to leave his current home. He was not certain whether it was because of the foster parents themselves, or their hooligan of a son. The parents were coldly neutral to him, ordering him to be silent if he spoke out of turn, chastising him if he left a pencil on the table or did not tuck in his chair after dinner. They said "good morning" when he came down for breakfast, and "good night" when he was sent to bed. They did not touch him, and sighed when he required anything.

Their son on the other hand could not function a single day without tormenting him. Leaving nails in his shoes, covered his school books in markers, pulling at his hair, kicked his shins, and depositing nasty bugs in his bed. When walking outside from school, Toris would be ambushed by his foster brother and pelted with acorns, rocks, and mud.

His foster mother would purse her lips together, sigh, and order him to the bath when he returned home, disheveled clothes torn and dirty. She never asked what happened, and Toris did not bother to explain himself.

Only once did he confront his the other boy about his aggressiveness. He was bouncing on his bed, pillow being yanked around while Toris sat on the floor attempting to complete his homework. When the pillow struck the back of his head, sending his hand forward and leaving a long dark mark across his neatly written answers, Toris turned towards the other boy.

"Gilbert!" His voice came out sharp and angry, and though the other did not stop in his prancing, red eyes met his, twinkling in mischief. Gilbert was an albino, pale skinned, bleach white hair, and unnerving red eyes that had an explosive heat to them.

Toris took a deep breath. "What do you want from me?" he demanded.

Gilbert was in the process of doing a handstand, his skinny pale heels hitting the wall for balance. He let himself roll down, and in one smooth movement launched himself off the bed and tackled Toris, slamming the other boy to the ground. He sat on the other's torso and waved his arms in the air in victory, "I won!" he whooped.

Staying down, Toris brought his hand up to his head, "Gilbert…" he pleaded gently.

His soft tone seemed to get his foster brother's attention. Red eyes came down to meet his, and Toris felt something in him stir in curiosity. His mind tried to compare that crimson color to that color he had seen long ago. A cold color, amethyst…nothing like Gilbert's eyes yet he could not help but compare. Fire and ice, winter and summer…

"You don't have to worry about anything, Toris," Gilbert spoke, snapping Toris out of his reverie. "Cause I'm awesome, you'll be saved."

Toris pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Saved?"

"Yup!" Cheered Gilbert, pushing himself off, yet using his hands to push down into Toris's stomach and winding him completely. "That's what _Vater_ and _Mutter_ said. You're a heathen, ungodly, and by staying with us you will be saved." He danced around Toris, waving his arm as if he held a holy sword in his fist. "You're unclean, and only when you confess what you are that you can be saved!"

Red anger flushed Toris's cheeks, and he felt his stomach twist at the other boy's words, "I'm not anything! I don't have anything to confess about!"

"Liar! Liar!" Gilbert sang, darting forward and slapping both palms against Toris's already red cheeks. "See, liars are sinners, and sinner's go to hell. But some can be saved, Toris." And Gilbert smiled, his face close and staring right into Toris as if he could see and know everything. "Don't worry…I'll save you."

Heathen. Ungodly. Unclean. Sinner.

No, Toris was not sad to leave that house.

One day, Gilbert brought rocks into the house, smuggled in his pockets from the school's playground. They were in the living room, both parents watching television, Toris on the floor leafing through his precious book. The other boy snuck beside him and snatched it right from him, and when Toris reached to get it back, a rock struck him right over his brow.

It _hurt_. Toris cried out in pain, feeling blood ooze and dripping down his face, staining his shirt. Gilbert laughed, pointing triumphantly, "_Vater_, look, look! Even the heathen bleeds red!"

Toris clutched his head, pained tears filling his eyes as he felt his hands become wet. He looked towards the adults, still sitting on the couch, both watching him with cautious eyes. Toris stared back at them, pleading silently.

"Toris," his foster mother sighed, turning away to look back at the television, "go clean yourself up before the carpet gets stained."

Gilbert laughed and laughed, waving _Gediminas and the Iron Wolf _like a conquered flag.

Then he was told to clean himself up _now_.

In the next moment, Toris launched himself at Gilbert, fist swinging so fast his shoulder burned, and his knuckles split as it connected right into the other boy's face. Gilbert stumbled back, nearly falling to the floor but somehow keeping his feet. He bent over and blood gushed from his nose that was now turned at an odd angle.

And there was blissful silence, for all of three seconds.

His foster father was upon him, large hands curling into his shirt yelling and shaking him, and then slammed his open palm right across Toris's cheek so hard he bit his tongue. It hurt, but he willed it away, and then willed away the pain of his torn knuckles, and then demanded his head to _stop hurting_ because his stomach boiled, and his ears rang, and he glared past the yelling man right at Gilbert's stupid face, which was now covered in blood just as red as his. Glared, because the other boy ignored his mother as she attempted to coddle him to look right back, eyes wide and burning in something that Toris dared the other to name.

Gilbert reached up and wiped his white arm over his ruined nose, their gazes not once wavering. His throat bobbing into a manic laugh that caused blood to foam at the edges of his mouth, teeth stained as his lips stretched out into a twisted grin. "Now wasn't that just awesome…Toris," he sneered.

If his foster father hadn't held him back, Toris would have punched every single dastardly tooth out of Gilbet's disgusting mouth.

He was locked in his room for the rest of the day, and by evening a frazzled man from the System came to interview him about the incident. Toris refused to speak to him, but allowed the man to brush his hair from his forehead and inspect his _head_. "You were struck here, weren't you?" the man asked in confusion, his thumb brushing against unblemished skin.

Toris shrugged. He had nothing to say.

Then the man wrote in his notebook:

_**Toris **__**Laurinaitis: **__History of unprovoked violent outbursts._

He was instructed to collect his things, and Toris did just that. Within minutes he has his two paper bags ready, and no one asked to help carry his belongings as he was escorted out. He almost missed noticing Gilbert standing rigidly by the door. Nose swollen, eyes already bruising. Hands in fists, pale brows knotted, eyes glowering hotly.

Toris was proud of his handiwork.

"I'll find you," the other boy snapped out, causing Toris to pause and look at the other boy as he stepped out into the night. The moon was high and bright, and there were a few stars speckling the blackness of the sky. The man from the System's hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed impatiently. "I swear I'll find you," Gilbert vowed.

_And if you do_, Toris swore to himself, _I'm going to beat your face in again._

He left without looking back.

No one would want to keep him for long after such an incident, he was told by the man. It was written in his file for all potential foster parents to see. "History of unprovoked violent outbursts". A home was a place where one was supposed to feel safe in, the lecture went on, so how could anyone feel safe with a wild boy who would strike another, break bone and spill blood over nothing?

Toris did not respond.

They briefly stopped at a facility where they were joined by a woman who gave the man a new file and address.

"They're the only ones we could get at such a short notice." She said, buckling her seatbelt.

So they drove. For what seemed like hours, they kept on traveling. They left the city and into the suburbs, and then into nothingness. Toris stared outside silently, watching the dark landscape change under the moon and the stars. Eventually he became tired and leaned his head against the passenger window.

And then, the two in the front seat started to whisper:

"_The other boy did admit to throwing a rock at him…"_

"_But you said that there wasn't a scratch on him."_

"_Yea. Maybe he was lying…to protect him? He seemed very attached to Toris..."_

Toris did not know which was more stupid; Gilbert's face or the adults who spoke about him in as if he could not hear.

Shifting in his seat to get a bit more comfortable, he asked tiredly, "How much longer till we get there?"

Both adults started, and then the man stammered out, "Ah…not too long. Maybe fifteen minutes?" He looked to the woman who nodded her head. She turned around to face Toris and smiled reassuringly.

Her expression of seeming false cheer unnerved him. Turning away, he twisted his hands in his lap and asked, "Who am I going to now?"

"The Łukasiewicz family. Jadwiga and Jogaila Łukasiewicz. They live on a farm, and have already adopted one boy about your age. They've been saying that they wanted another child since the farm is so big, and since their son is always alone." The woman had the file open, and Toris could see her eyes shifting as they skimmed through the written text.

Toris's stomach twisted at this. Another foster sibling. As if Gilbert wasn't bad enough, now he was going to be sent to another family and would have to deal with another child who would take his imagined psychosis out on him. Turning away to look back out into the dark night, he wrapped his arms around his torso and shut his eyes miserably.

**~~~mOnStErS~~~sReTsNoM~~~**

It was called Warsaw Farm, and even in the abysmal darkness Toris could tell that the Łukasiewicz family's main pride was wheat. Tall stalks grew out of the earth for what seemed like miles, making the boy curiously wonder what they looked like whilst shining under the glare of the bright sun. The entrance was off one of the main highways, and the road leading to the house was unpaved and bumpy. Toris had unbuckled his seatbelt to look out at the dust puffing out from the back of the car, seeming like gold fairy dust shimmering under the rear car lights.

When they reached the house, Toris saw that it was really a simple looking cottage. Quaint looking, painted white, with a picket fence and a swinging gate. Toris collected his bags, and solemnly slipped out of the car when the man opened it for him. He held his belongings close, and at the sound of the house door opening his eyes darted down to the dirt ground and his worn shoes.

A large hand nudged him forward, and Toris followed the adults through the gate and down the cobbled path to the house. There were three steps up to the threshold, heavy burdened steps, and then his dusty shoes stood on clean wooden floors, his neck prickling in cold from the stream of cool air conditioner.

He was ushered to sit down on a soft couch, both System employees on each side of him as the adults spoke about his case. Nervously, Toris was able to lift his head up to look at his new foster parents. The man sitting across from them was older, gray hair peppering a dark thick mane of hair, his face weathered and wrinkled, and a determined look in his piercing blue eyes. The woman sitting beside him was the complete opposite; petite and extremely young looking; she had long voluminous blond hair and delicate features like a princess from a fairy tale.

Before he knew it he was alone on the couch, the man and woman from the System swiftly walking out the door without a uttering a single word to him. His hands came to his knees and clenched at his pants.

"Toris?"

His head snapped up so hard that his neck cracked, eyes wide as he stared up at his new foster father. The tall man bent, his knees crackling, so that he was eye level with the boy. Toris dropped his gaze with a gulp, intimidated like never before at the intense look he was receiving.

"We were told that you got into a fight with another boy today," Mr. Jadwiga said. "You broke his nose and bloodied his mouth."

Toris stiffened, his hands now clawing into his knees.

"Lift your head," the man commanded.

His shoulder's stiffened, and he could feel his hands begin to shake, however, Toris obediently tilted his head up, eyes reluctantly meeting Mr. Jadwiga's unwavering stare.

"Do you regret striking him?"

Toris instantly felt himself frown at the odd question. He pictured Gilbert's mocking face, red eyes, and spiteful laugh. Pressing his lips together, he chose to stay silent, refusing to lie to this man.

A heavy quiet settled over them, before Mr. Jadwiga asked another odd question, "And the parents? What of them? If you had the chance, would you hurt them?"

Toris thought about Gilbert's parents, their stern words and indifference. "No, sir." He spoke.

"Did you like them?" the man asked, a dark eyebrow rising.

He shook his head, "No." His eyes shifted to the side, uncomfortable with these questions.

"Toris," Again, Toris obeyed the stern tone, unable to keep from looking away. "Why did you feel like you needed to attack this boy?"

Red on a white canvas. Waiting, simmering slowly, a pressure rising and ready to explode. Laughing; heathen, ungodly, unclean, sinner.

"_I'll save you…"_

"_I'll find you…"_

…Red blood on cold white snow…

"_We're friends, __да__?"_

Terror. Sudden, unexplained terror gripped him, his whole body stiffening into a complete shudder. His hands became clammy, and his body broke out into a cold sweat. His heart beat so hard that his ribs felt like they would shatter from the force, his lungs constricted unable to breath in or out. Panicked, his eyes darted towards the door, wanting to escape, to flee, get away, protect himself before….

A hand, large and firm landed on his shoulder, right at the crux of his neck. It was warm, emitting a heat that spread to his joints and eased into his stiffened limbs. "Toris," Mr. Jadwiga called, and willed himself to comply, looking back at the man, and forcefully letting out a deep breath. In and out.

"A man never turns his head away when he fears something," the man's eyes burned intensely as he spoke, "He faces it straight on, and destroys that fear by conquering it. You have no regrets for your actions, so explain yourself so that we may understand each other. Speak."

Toris could not help himself. Awed at this man's unwavering conviction, he felt his cheeks heat up as he tried to keep his eyes on this strong figure in front of him. It took him back, years ago; being carried atop strong shoulders that he never doubted would hold him safe.

So Toris spoke, told him about Gilbert and his mean tricks, and of the people who raised the boy into what he had become. He told him of the stone, the pain, and finally the rage. Mr. Jadwiga listened, face serious but not severe, nodding his head at the boy's words. When Toris was done, he felt like everything that had been twisting inside him had released, and with that came a crushing exhaustion that made his eyes heavy and his shoulders droop.

He was escorted upstairs, where Mrs. Jogaila was finishing up fluffing his pillow. His bags were placed on a simple wooden desk that was tucked under the single window. The bed was narrow, but the sheets and cushion were soft. He blushed shyly when Mrs. Jogaila took his shoes off and pushed him down into the bed, whispering a gentle "good night". She walked out, and when the lights were turned off, he could see the couple's silhouette, a man and woman, watching him as he drifted to sleep.

**~~~mOnStErS~~~sReTsNoM~~~**

He woke up to the sunlight, shimmering through think white curtains into his eyes. There were birds singing, his body wrapped and warm in sheets. The sheets were blissfully soft underneath his bare toes, and they smelled of fresh detergent with a little hint of a woman's perfume and spices. Toris did not want to move.

There was a small bathroom next to his room, and he washed and changed into wrinkled yet clean clothes. He nervously ran his hands through his bangs and hair, attempting to look presentable, before making his way downstairs and right into the kitchen.

Both his foster parents were in the kitchen; Mr. Jadwiga sat at a wooden table dinner table, a newspaper in his hands. Mrs. Jogaila was hovering over the stove, and Toris's mouth filled with saliva at the sight of the pancakes she was making.

"G…good morning," he stammered out, running his hands against the sides of his pants to rid them of cold sweat.

Two pairs of eyes turned towards him, and two faces smiled in greeting.

"Ah!" Mrs. Jogaila said, "Excellent, you're already dressed!" She lowered the heat under the pan she was fretting over, and walked around her sitting husband to Toris. She took his hand, and Toris could not help but start at how warm it was. "I did not see you carry in a coat. Do you have one?"

Toris blinked, and slowly shook his head.

"It gets cold here in the winter. He's going to need one," Mr. Jadwiga spoke, looking at them over his newspaper.

His wife nodded her head, and squeezed Toris's hand gently. "We'll get you a coat, Toris. I don't want you to get sick when the weather changes. You're going to have to tell me what color you like when we go, okay?"

Flummoxed, he opened and shut his mouth, unable to even voice a polite thank you. For a second, he was afraid that his eyes would well by that simple gesture, but managed to nod his head, and swallow thickly.

Mrs. Jogaila did not seem to notice his rudeness, simply smiling and still squeezing his hand in hers. "I need you to do me a favor," she said after a moment. "Feliks got a little nervous this morning when we told him you arrived. He ran out to the field and hasn't come back yet. Why don't go out there and introduce yourself, then the two of you can come back and have some breakfast pancakes."

Feliks. His new foster brother.

He found his shoes, still dusty, on a shoe rack next to the front door. Once on, he made his way down the front steps and past the gate, and then made his way around the house to the back where he had seen the fields the night before.

Toris flinched and had to squint as the morning sun glared into his face, its brilliant light reflected off the stalks of golden wheat. It was an ocean of golden fields, swaying like waves with the gentle wind. Toris could smell moist soil, and dirt, and something unique to the outside that he had never smelled before while in the city. Further to the right, there was a small barn and a grass field with two cows grazing. Looking from right to left all there was to see were fields of gold, and he wondered which direction he should start in his search for the elusive Feliks…

"They told me you were here."

Later on they would argue vehemently about whether Toris simply startled or shrieked like a little girl, but either way, somehow Toris had not noticed young Feliks Łukasiewicz reclined against five wheat stacks that had been cut and tied in bulks. It was as if he had spoken to the wheat and asked them to camouflage him from sight. He sat like a spoiled king, smirking at Toris's flustered look, one of his hands lazily resting against his cheek. His hair was a longish blond mane, cut straight right at his shoulders, he had green eyes similar to Toris's, yet they sparkled with something that Toris knew that he lacked – something special that made his stomach twist at the sight of the other boy, compelling his attention despite an instinct that warned him to draw back.

"They've been saying that they wanted another one. Though why they don't try to have one of their own is beyond me. But they're excited, so if they're happy than I have nothing to complain about. Right?"

Still reeling, Toris managed to stammer, "R-right…I want them to be happy too."

Because they asked and listened. They smiled, and touched him, and their hands were warm and strong. The sheets were clean and smelled wonderful. There were pancakes for breakfast. He was going to get a coat, and he would ask for one in green.

Still smirking, Feliks stood up and patted his rear to brush away any clinging wheat. "Just as long as we have an understanding that I'm the big brother here, cause I came first…" His eyebrow twitched when he had to look up at Toris, "You're taller than me….that like…pisses me off." He brought a hand up to his chin, worrying it as he looked Toris up and down with a curious look.

Toris suddenly broke out into a sweat.

"Got it!" Feliks exclaimed suddenly, pointing a finger down at the other boy's crotch. "Show me your pecker! Bet you mine is, like, twice the size of yours!"

"What? No!" He felt his face turn beet red, hands coming to protectively cover his private region.

"Don't be like a total stick in the mud," pouted Feliks, stepping forward and reaching for Toris's pants. With a mortified sound, he turned away, feeling the slighter boy press onto his back and hands trying to find purchase to pull down. "Mine has to be bigger!"

"It's bigger, it's bigger!" Toris cried out, trying to shoulder the blond off.

Suddenly the weight was off him. "Really?"

Toris nodded his head, turning his head and trying to give the other boy the most sincere look he could muster. Feliks's fine eyebrows knotted as he scrutinized Toris's face, then suddenly snorting and pointing at him, "You, like, totally have a funny face. It's like, hilarious." He covered his mouth and nose and giggled merrily.

Hell, Toris stared at the other boy, he didn't know what to make of this guy. At first he came off as strong and no-nonsense, but then after cowing him, his personality changed to that of…a mix of a pubescent boy's humor with the speech of a teenage girl.

"Say, what's your name?" Feliks suddenly asked.

"Toris," he replied immediately, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Toris Laurinaitis."

"Toris, huh? Not much of a name to play with." The boy pouted slightly, hands on his hips.

_Huh?_ Once again the conversation was going somewhere Toris was unsure of. "Play with?"

"A nickname," Feliks explained, tapping his foot, studying the taller boy. "As your elder brother and your boss, I've gotta give you a nickname. One that only I can use. Like our secret code so that you always know I'm the real fabulous thing."

Toris could hardly follow the other boy's logic. "Why would I…"

The blond clapped his hands. "Tori! Howz Tori? Do you like it?"

Toris stared.

"No good, huh?" Again, pink lips jutted out into a pout. "Well…oh! You've got a funny way of speaking."

He was pointing a finger again at Toris's face. Toris wondered if anyone ever told this boy that it was rude to point – especially at people's faces. "That's cause I'm originally Lithuanian," he said.

"Oh! That's like super cool, 'cause my family, and even mama Jadwiga are all originally Polish! That's why they let me name the farm Warsaw! It's like totally fate, since we're neighbors in blood." Felik's eyes became wide in excitement, and again Toris found himself fascinated by the boy's sparkling eyes.

Then the words Felik's spoke gave him a jolt, and curiously he found the courage to ask, "They let you name the farm?" Sure the Łukasiewicz's had adopted the boy, but to trust a child's choice in naming their home…to care enough to be given a choice…

"Like duh! Of course! We're a family arn't we?"

Toris's heart beat a sent a painful thump through his core. Family. Feliks was once like him, without one, and yet now he stood before him completely at ease with where he was, speaking freely about something that was supposed to be forever lost. Toris wanted it. He wanted it badly. Wanted it so much that when he knew that he could not get it, he cracked and struck the mouth that voiced it. Tried to silence Gilbert who had inadvertently hurt him more than any stone he threw at him. Wanted it so much that he stared at Feliks and wished that they could trade places for just a moment so he could _feel_ it, that warmth from so long ago.

Before he knew it, Feliks was speaking again, unaware of the turmoil that Toris felt. "So, Lithuanian…How do you say it in your language?"

"Lietuva."

"Lietuva. Lietuva," Feliks's face twisted as he seemed to taste the word, and then his features brightened and he lunged forward, grasping a startled Toris by the shoulders. "Liet!" He exclaimed, "That's it! You're now Liet! And I can be Po!"

Toris leaned back a bit; chuckling nervously at the absurd name Feliks was dubbing himself. "You're name is fine the way it is."

The blond boy laughed and stepped back, throwing his hands behind his head. "Yeah, that's cause it's just fabulous, ain't it?" It was a carefree laugh. Wind blew against them, rustling the wheat stalks and blowing at Feliks's hair. They looked perfect together, as if this mysterious boy had always been a part of the scenery. It was peaceful, and calm, and without realizing it, Toris wished to hear the boy laugh again – even if it were over silly nicknames. "I can smell breakfast! Come on, Liet!"

He grabbed his hand and started to drag him back towards the farm. Looking at the hand that held it, he found that though it was smaller, it was strong and calloused. Toris found himself squeezing gently against it, and Feliks looked over his shoulder and gave him a toothy grin in return.

Breakfast was warm and loud. Feliks had plenty of stories, and warned his parents that no one was allowed to use Toris's secret nickname. The blond kept on trying to steal his pancakes from his plate until Mrs. Jogaila smacked his hand with a spatula and told him to behave. After a pout, he then challenged Toris to an eating contest, and when Toris won changed the rules so the one who ate the least of the two was the winner. The Łukasiewicz's laughed at their adopted son's excited antics, and Mr. Jadwiga gave him an amused, yet sympathetic pat on the shoulder, whispering into Toris's ear, "Would you believe he was so scared of meeting you that he ran out of the house crying? Looks like he's already become taken by you."

Toris could not help it - it was so ridiculous, so _different_ – that he burst in joyful laughter, his voice joining the rest of the happy voices that buzzed the kitchen that morning.

"So yea, you guys totally missed hearing Liet scream like a girl!"

Toris had fallen, and did not want to ever climb back up again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Wow, this chapter was longer than I intended. I hope I kept the characters as in-character as possible. I wanted to show a bit of both sides of Lithuania – the one who was a monster in battle, yet a kind and gentle person off the battle fields. Prussia/Gilbert was barely supposed to be mentioned, but his Awesomeness demanded attention, and don't worry, it won't be last we see of him. I LOVE his character, and the fact that the two countries in the past were constantly at war with each other – and then later shared the misery of being under the rule of Russia is quite intriguing. I love complicated relationships ^_^

I found it interesting that even though Poland constantly took advantage of Lithuania, the country always remembered his time as the Commonwealth as being the happiest, and wished to return to those days. Both countries since then have gone to hell and back, and the two characters in canon are getting re-connected – though Lithuania is STILL overwhelmed by Poland's 'fabulousness' lol.

_Next Time: Life on the Warsaw Farm. Strange dreams. Stranger travelers…._

Tell me who you guys think will be the 'travelers'? Even though I already have them planned – someone might suggest something far more interesting and it might change my mind ::cackles::


	3. Chapter 2: The Warning

**A/N:** NaNoWriMo is over. I can breathe again. Now back to my regular fanfics (yay!). If you are a Spamano fan, keep your eyes out for my NaNo project _"Il Diavolo Sorriso"_. It needs a lot of editing, but I hope to have a chapter ready for public eyes by the new year. For this fic, I have changed its contents about 3 times because I couldn't figure out how to present it properly. I hope once Ivan shows up things will begin rolling, but right now this chapter seems a bit…rough. Still, hope you guys enjoy it.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine. Languages other than English are curtsey of Google Translate.

**Pairings:** Russia/Lithuania (main) – more will show.

**Warnings: **This is not a very nice story. Violence of both supernatural and human kind. Nonconsensual sexual situations, some that might include minors. Drug use, gangs, and prostitution…

**Chapter Warning: **G rated violence. Allusions to blood.

* * *

><p><strong>Monsters<strong>  
><em>Chapter Two: The Warning…<em>

"I think you have to know who you are. Get to know the monster that lives in your soul, dive deep into your soul and explore it."  
><em>Tori Amos<em>

Toris woke up at the crack of dawn almost every single morning. The sky behind the white curtains layered over his window was a glowing dark blue, with the hints of lightening. There was always a chill, the smell of morning dew, and as Toris pushed his comforter off his shoulders he almost always had to suppress a slight shudder at the change from comforting warmth to cold. He wore warm house slippers to the bathroom, a Christmas present from Mrs. Łukasiewicz. It was getting small on his feet, his heels hanging from the edges and touching the cool tiles of the bathroom. Mrs. Łukasiewicz might get him another pair for Christmas, Toris hoped, for such a luxurious accessory was something that a man did not buy for himself, but quietly and thankfully accepted from another more feminine party.

Toris's heels would gratefully appreciate another pair of slippers.

After brushing his teeth, he changed into warm pants and sweaters, got his boots on and went outside to the barn. By this time the sun was already peeking from the horizon, the sky turning an orangish hue the cast the farm in an odd fiery glow. Toris's first task was to let out the cows from the barn. The grass was most appetizing in the morning, with the cool dew and crunch. He then went into the chicken coop and carefully eased some eggs from beneath some slumbering hens, while keeping an eye out for the rooster. The damn bird liked to launch itself at Toris's head. Feliks laughed at him once after a particularly unpleasant incident, saying, "Perhaps it thinks your hair is worms. Or maybe it just likes to make you scream."

Toris responded that perhaps next time Feliks should wake up early and get the eggs, in which the other then hastily reminded him, "But I'm, like, allergic to feathers!"

Yeah. Right. Feliks's pillows were stuffed with goose down feathers.

He placed the eggs he collected in a small basket outside the backdoor of the house, which was an exit from the kitchen. Mrs. Łukasiewicz would clean then use them for their breakfast. She seemed in a better mood when not having to venture into the chicken coop. Just as the rooster hated the men on the farm, it seemed to realize when there was a lady presence and somehow always gravitated towards the bottom of her skirt – which was not appreciated, if hilarious in its own way.

Toris would go back in, and hopefully by then Feliks would have been done with his shower. Most of the time that was not the case, for the blond boy truly enjoyed his morning showers and the comfort they gave him. That was all well and good, except in the process Toris was forgotten and he really, really did not want to have breakfast smelling like chickens and cows.

The Łukasiewicz family always had breakfast together. There were eggs and cheese, yogurt, and fresh squeezed juice. Mrs. Łukasiewicz baked the best muffins, made the best pancakes and waffles from scratch. She could make a loaf of bread that made the house always smell delicious and warm; she made her own butter and yogurt. She dried the raisins and cooked in delicacies that watered the mouth and made the three males in the small home quiet happy and satiated in the stomach.

Best were the jams she made, in which she packaged into jars and wrapped them in labels made in town. Mr. Łukasiewicz packaged them once a week, and the boys climbed into his truck to drive into the more populated areas and hand them over to grocery stores and coffee houses that liked to supply them. She made strawberry and apricots, even cranberry jams – which were seasonal.

It was mostly in the selling – the handing of goods and taking in the wealth that Feliks shined. Feliks liked what was good, and knew how to sell it as easily as he flicked his hair behind his ear and winked. Toris preferred the manual part, and enjoyed knowing how things worked in the background to give Feliks an easier avenue to sell the goods. Feliks declared the price, and Toris managed the haggling.

They worked well together.

Feliks was sitting in an overlarge knitted sweater, sweats and pink fuzzy slippers at the kitchen table when Toris was done with his shower. Mrs. Łukasiewicz was placing breakfast on the table.

"Where's Mr. Łukasiewicz?" he asked as he sat down, across from Feliks who had pulled the sweater up to his nose. He had been asked once, during the first year he started staying at Warsaw Farm, whether he would be comfortable calling them 'mom' and 'dad'. Toris had gone silent, and the subject was never brought up again.

"He's getting the truck ready. We're going to town on some personal business," Mrs. Łukasiewicz replied, drying her hands on her apron.

Today's breakfast menu was egg omelets stuffed with freshly grown spinach and mushroom with some toast and lemon juice with mint. Toris sliced into the steaming egg with his fork. "You don't want us to come with you?" he asked.

Mrs. Łukasiewicz kissed him on top of his head and patted his shoulder with a small hand. He had a growth spurt some months ago, and within three months came to stand almost a head taller than his foster mother. She had complained, Mr. Łukasiewicz clapped him on his shoulder in pride, and Feliks sulked. His foster brother had grown but continued to suffer in the height department. Even after nearly four years of living together, the other boy continued to claim seniority over Toris.

"Its boring work at town hall," she said. "I bet even you would fall asleep after hearing all that drivel from boring old men."

"Yeah," laughed Feliks, his voice slightly muffled by the sweater. "You already act like an old man, Liet. You, like, would be acting ancient if you go."

Toris raised an eyebrow at the other. "What is wrong with you?"

"Shut up," snapped Feliks, "It's, like, super cold you woolly mammoth."

The familiar shrill sound of the trunk horn was heard from outside. With a flustered gasp, Mrs. Łukasiewicz untied her apron and draped it over the kitchen counter. "Be good boys!" she waved at them, before ushering herself outside, running back in to grab her coat.

Once alone, Toris glanced at his foster brother, "So, what are we going to do today?"

Feliks braved the cold and slipped the sweater from his mouth, sipping some steaming hot chocolate. He had somehow fit three large jumbo marshmallows in the mug. "I'm going to totally veg on the couch and finish watching those Desperate Housewives episodes. Oh! And Top Model! Completely missed those episodes 'cause of midterms."

Of course.

"Have you finished your college applications?" Toris enquired, not surprised at the slight stiffening of the other's shoulders. "Feliks, you're not going to be accepted anywhere if you don't apply!"

"What's the big hurry?" complained the blond, "I don't get you at all, Liet. Why are you so, so, like, completely gung-ho about going to college? There aren't even any close to here. You'd have to move away from the farm to attend classes."

Toris sighed, picking his plate from the table and setting them into the sink. He opened some warm water to run onto them before turning to his foster brother. "I'm going to be turning eighteen soon. I'll be an adult, and will be leaving the system. I am almost assured a scholarship because of my grades, and as long as I keep them up in college I can study, and then once I have a degree get a good job and be completely independent."

Feliks rolled his eyes, running a pale finger around the rim of his mug. "You're like a robot when you talk like that," he complained. "You're always so damn practical, Liet."

"And you're not," Toris said.

"Hey," Feliks stood and shoved the brunette away from the sink, slamming his empty mug in with a wet splash. "I plan on staying right here on Warsaw Farm. What's wrong with that?

"They're going to get older, Feliks," Toris tried to reason. "They won't be able to maintain the farm on their own. Time's are changing and things aren't as simple as they used to be. At least with a college degree I'll be able to know how to help them when the time comes. I'd have made the connections and the networks. As I am now I am nothing more than some extra hand and an extra mouth. I want to be more than that, I am more than that!"

Feliks reached and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "There you go again," the other spat angrily, flash flushed, "You are so, so stupid, Liet! How many times do we have to tell you, you're not 'extra' anything!"

It was an old argument. He had this one with everyone on the farm. The Łukasiewicz's did not want him to leave the farm. There was no need, no benefit. If he was happy, why change it? They could not understand, nor could Toris explain it properly.

How could he every repay them if he was solely dependent on them. At eighteen they would no longer be his legal guardians. Even if Mr. Łukasiewicz hired him as farm hand, Toris wanted more than that. He wanted to own his own farm, if possible. He wanted to know more of the trading business, of the farms and lands around them. Of the produce that could be grown in the soils. He wanted orchards of trees, fields of gold wheat. Nothing was more satisfying than knowing the moist soil in his hands, and the bright vegetables that he grew could be benefitted from. There were so many venues to choose from, to create industry and income. However, times were changed, the trade was changing, and Toris knew he would most benefit and learn from what was available in the walls of a university. There would be opportunities to internship and shadow at other places, and with more experience came greater understanding on what worked, and what didn't.

Toris wanted to be an asset.

They cleaned the kitchen in stubborn silence.

Toris left through the back door, glancing back to see Feliks heading towards the television. He hated it when they argued. Feliks had a way of making him feel guilty, as if he were the one in the wrong when it was completely the opposite. The blond was a complete brat sometimes, but Toris knew Feliks cared for him and was deeply hurt and frightened of the prospect of leaving the farm.

Feliks hated change. Was practically terrified of it. Toris had to remind himself that like him, Feliks had also lost his family. Change for them was often not pleasant, following disaster and tragedy. But they were both fortunate to have been found and accepted by the Łukasiewiczs. They _adopted_ Feliks, and treated both of them as sons. They were accepted the way they came. They were acknowledged for what they were. And most of all they were loved without reservation.

Though Mr. Łukasiewicz's eye twitched a bit at the sight of those pink fuzzy slippers and that girl's skirt in Feliks's closet.

The morning air was still chilly, and closing his eyes Toris could almost smell the approaching snow. With all the hype of global warming and melting arctic poles, it was getting harder and harder to predict when the winter cold and snow would arrive, and when it would leave. The days switched from warm to chilly, confusing the farmers and the plants that they tried to grow. Crops were failing more and more, leaving the ones with experience baffled on what to do.

Toris shivered. The sky was light blue, but from the distance he could see a grey wave of clouds slowly approaching. There wasn't a strong wind, so by noon it would arrive.

He went to the grass fields where the cows continued to graze. Mr. Łukasiewicz and both Feliks and Toris had created some mounds of haystacks there. It was one of Toris's favorite places to relax. He climbed one, resting his back in, and covering himself with some hay to ward off the cold. With a sigh, he allowed his eyes to shut. Within a second a warm weight settled his stomach. He did not have to open his eyes to know what it was.

His hands came up to his stomach, and fingers ran through soft fur and whiskers. It was a small tabby cat, with more blond/gold fur than orange. Toris had found it a year after arriving at Warsaw Farm. He had gotten into a fight with Feliks – something about the other boy's constant use of the 'Warsaw Rule' – and had run out of the home and sought refuge in a haystack. It was after curling up in his seclusion that he heard a meow, and when peeking out found wide green eyes staring up at him from a furry face of a cat.

Toris did not think twice, he reached forward and said, "Quickly, before the Warsaw Rule Maniac takes you too!"

And amazingly, the cat jumped readily in his arms. Toris had stayed in the haystack, his face buried into the fine fur of the cat for hours, listening to its soft purrs, and feeling its small heart beating in life. The cat never came to the house, always disappearing whenever Toris started back home. It also only made its presence known when he was by himself, and usually after a spat with Feliks.

His foster brother called it the Phantom Cat. He also claimed it was a figment of his imagination. "You're totally going crazy, Liet."

So Toris kept his silence about his companion. And just like every time he sought refuge in the haystack after hard words were exchanged, Toris pulled the warm feline to his chest and let its purrs lull him into a light sleep.

_A young boy, with features like snow, but fire for eyes, smiling as his mouth and nose were smeared in blood, sneering._

"_Now wasn't that just awesome…Toris?"_

_Another boy, standing in ragged clothes billowing around him in the wind and red stained snow. Purple eyes, curious and dark and cold._

"_You're just like me….__We're friends, __да__?"_

Toris woke up gasping and choking for breath. It was freezing and his joints were stiff, yet he could feel himself completely drenched in sweat. He sat up, completely covered in straws of hay, the small yellow cat climbed down to his lap and stared up at him. His hand shook when he brought it to his face, and he swallowed down bile that threatened to rise.

He hadn't dreamt anything like…_that_…for a long, long time.

The cat pressed a small moist nose to his hand, and Toris gave the animal a shaky grin. He had wanted to give it a name, but he always came up blank. Creativity and imagination was more Feliks's forte. Too bad the elusive feline never stuck around to prove his existence to Toris's foster brother.

Suddenly, Toris felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, his arms beneath the sweater he wore covered in goosebumps. With a strangled sound, Toris threw himself from the hay, the cat leaping from him and fleeing past the stack and towards the house. Scrambling, Toris ran his hands through his hair and clothes, brushing the straw from him and his clothes, at the same time jogging towards home. As he went he turned towards the road, and noticed two figures walking up the dusty road.

A strange, ill feeling settled in his stomach like a cracked stone, his throat feeling clogged and his chest tightening in an unknown, unexplained fear. Toris could not keep his eyes off the figures, even as he stumbled over a rock and fell to his knees. He got up, this time not even bothering to dust his pants.

Feliks was standing on the front porch. He had his arms crossed over his thin chest, his blond hair waving over his stiff shoulders. The boy had a pensive look on his face, think brows creased in worry as he too looked towards the people approaching their home.

"You look like a mess, Liet," the blond admonished, not even twitching to look in his direction.

They could now make out a tall large man and a smaller one trekking towards them. Both carrying camping packs on their backs, trekking boots, and clothes that looked like they had been worn for days. Nneither were looking around as if lost.

Toris came closer Feliks, hovering just behind the slighter boy's shoulder. "Do you know them?" he asked.

Feliks shook his head. "I _hate_ strangers."

And strangers they were. The two stuck such an odd couple. The taller was more like a giant, large boned, with a square face, and blue eyes shielded behind a pair of glasses. He wore no hat despite the cold, and his hair was cut short. His smaller companion walked slightly behind him, he had a young look about him, with finer features and nervous looking brown eyes. Despite the uneasy air about him, he seemed far more approachable than his goliath of a friend.

When they finally came right up to the fenced gate, the taller man opened it, and allowed the smaller to enter first.

"Hey!" snapped Feliks, jumping down the steps of the porch and stomping towards the intruders. "This is, like, private property! Go away!"

The giant man looked down at Feliks, his face impassive and completely towering over the short boy who somehow managed to keep his balls intact and glare right up at the man.

Toris swallowed thickly.

"This where you live?" the man finally asked, looking away from Feliks and up at house, and the fields.

"Yeah? So?" Toris was not sure what to make of Feliks's aggressiveness. But then, other than when in school with friends, or in the company of their parents, he rarely saw Feliks approached or be approached by complete strangers. Other than when doing business in town in the company of Mr. Łukasiewicz, or with their peers in the safe walls of their school, they were mostly isolated on the farm.

The smaller blond man came to stand next to the goliath. He smiled gently at both of them, "I'm sorry for our intrusion. We didn't mean to enter without permission. It's just we're looking for the Warsaw Farm. Is this it?"

"Yes," Toris spoke up, coming to stand beside Feliks. He started at the heated glare he received from the other boy. His expression screaming at him to _shut up, Liet!_

The blond man sighed, a relieved grin spreading over his face. "Oh, that's excellent. I apologize for being rude! My name is Tino, and this is Berwald," he placed a hand on the arm of the giant man. "We came here to-"

Feliks took a step forward, completely cutting off Tino's polite introduction. He crowded up into the space of the tall Berwald, and snarling, "I don't care who you are. I want you to go. Now!"

"Feliks!" Toris admonished, not understanding at all why his foster brother was acting like this.

"You're the Łukasiewicz boy?" Berwald asked, looking down at the boy attempting to intimidate him. It was like watching a kitten try to threaten a Rottweiler.

"Like, that is totally none of your business!"

Dark blue eyes drifted to Toris, who shrank away a bit when meeting the intense look. "And him?"

Feliks jumped in front of Toris, pushing him back and bringing his arms out as if his small arms could ward off the large man if he tried to reach forward. "Don't look at him!" Feliks snarled, becoming more worked up.

Bewildered, Toris looked at the back of Feliks's blond head, then up at the glaring giant man and then finally to the smaller man. Tino, he noticed, was now carrying a distressed expression.

Brown eyes drifted to Toris. Tino frowned slightly then, and then his eyes widened, "Is he…?"

"Shut your mouth!" Feliks spat, lunging forward and suddenly swinging his arm at the other blond.

"_Feliks_!" Toris cried out, grabbing his foster brother and pulling him away as the blond kicked dirt up at the two strangers. "I'm so, sorry!" he apologized, nearly getting struck in the nose by a flying elbow. "I know he's being rude, but…"

Feliks yanked himself from his arms and shoved him back again, spitting in fury, "Don't you say anything to them, Liet!" He then turned back to the two men, "You're not wanted here! Buzz off!"

Tino raised his hands up, trying to pacify the furious teen. "Please, it's important that you…"

"Not gonna hear it!" Toris gaped as Feliks brought his hands up to his ears, shaking his head. "I've heard it enough times and I'm done. Go AWAY!"

The giant man suddenly moved, so quick it seemed impossible for a man his size. His large hand tangled into Feliks' sweater and pulled him clear off his feet, bringing the small boy nose to nose with him. "You're a fool," the man said in such a dark malicious tone. "We are trying to…."

Seeing his brother, suspended in the air, his toes clear from the ground, his hair tangled in his sweater, and pale hands gripping the arm that held him so easily made something snap in Toris's head. Before he could formulate another thought, his body was moving, driving his shoulder into the tall man's side, knocking him unbalanced so that he dropped Feliks to catch himself from falling.

Suddenly the earth beneath Toris's feet seemed to heave and he stumbled forward, falling to his hands and knees, his hair flying into his face and momentary blinding him. Beside him Feliks yelped as he too seemed to lose his feet and fell on his bottom. For a moment Toris stayed in place, feeling the stones and earth beneath him tremor and then stop as if they never moved at all. He could feel both knees and palms being cut by gravel, could feel his skin tear and blood oozing out. This was not an unfamiliar feeling, so was it not unfamiliar to swiftly command it to stop, his blood to stop leaking and his skin fibers to connect together and mend themselves. After a breath he stood, shaking his hair from his eyes, his pants were torn, but the skin was unscathed, his palms up, dirty but not shredded. Feliks sat baffled at his feet, and the tall Berwald crouched slightly, but one arm was captured by Tino who was giving Toris a wide eyed look of pure pity.

"We can't do anything if they don't accept us, Berwald," Tino said, looking up at his companion. "It seems we've done all we can here." He pulled at the tall man, forcing him a step away from the frightened teens. Berwald relented after a tense moment, standing tall and nodding down at his friend.

Feliks pushed himself up to his feet just as the two men turned away from them.

"Keep on moving!" he taunted loudly with a laugh. "That's what you get for coming where you know you're not wanted!"

Toris hissed at him to _shut up, what the hell is wrong with you?_

The tall Berwald stopped, back stiff, and Tino looking up at him worriedly. The man's shoulders quivered and then deep blue eyes looked over a large shoulder at them. "There are more of us coming this way," he said, his low deep voice filling the air around them, sinking deep into the moist dirt and gravel as if his mere command could shake the earth with his voice. "They know about you, Łukasiewicz boy. They are not as forgiving as us."

With one last warning look, he turned away, and he and his companion made their way down the dirt path that would eventually lead them to the main highway. Toris and Feliks watched them go, a heavy and horribly tense feeling twisting in Toris's stomach as the strangers' backs slowly disappeared. He looked to Feliks, his foster brother's face was devoid of blood, lips thin and pursed together in a straight line, green eyes wide and troubled.

"Feliks…" Toris started to ask.

The blond whirled around so fast his hair whipped at his face, "You were, like, super cool for a moment there, Liet!" Smiling, teeth flashing, eyes twinkling. "Now back to my couch and my TV!" He turned back towards the house.

_Wrong. This was wrong._

"Feliks," Toris called again.

Feliks stopped, clapping his hands together. "I know! We can play chess! We haven't played in, like, forever. Just as long as we play by the Warsaw Rules, then we should be fine, right?" He turned back to Toris, reaching and taking hold of his wrist, holding it firmly. "The two of us always have the greatest times, don't we?"

"Feliks," Toris said, shaking his head, "I don't understand…"

Suddenly, thin but strong arms were around his shoulders, and he was forced to bend over slightly as Feliks pulled him into a hug. Instinctively, his hands came to rest on the other's sides, just as their forehead's touched so that everything that Toris could see was Felik's dominant green eyes. He could not look away from them…he never could look away. This was Feliks, his brother, his companion, his _family_, his everything next to the Łukasiewicz couple who took him in.

"Feliks," he begged.

"Hush," a hand ran down the back of his head in comfort. "Forget about them. They don't matter. We're safe here. No one can touch us as long as we stay here. I swear, Liet, nothing is going to happen to us."

Feliks was never more sure of himself, Toris knew, he spoke the truth of how he saw it with every fiber of his being. They were fine and safe, nothing could harm them, nothing would befall them, nothing would change between them and everything that they knew.

As long as they stayed here.

Cold, cold wind blew around them, wrapping frigid fingers \ between the small spaces between their bodies. They both shivered, and pulled apart, Feliks still smiling confidently at Toris as he led the other back into the house. Despite the warmth that enveloped them as they settled down in the living room with a chess board between them, Toris continued to feel the cold in his bones, the stiffness in his fingers and joints.

_Wrong. This was wrong._

**~~~mOnStErS~~~sReTsNoM~~~**

"_I'll find you…I swear I'll find you."_

Toris sat up in bed, trembling and shivering in cold. He had taken a warm shower before going to bed, but it had not done any good to alleviate the stiffness he was feeling. Mrs. Łukasiewicz had felt his forehead and offered to make him some ginger tea with lemon. She had noticed something was off with the boys from the moment she and her husband came home in the early evening to find them arguing over the chess board.

Toris had refused the tea, while Feliks accepted a mug but whined at how spicey it was, and _omg it burns!_

Swallowing thickly, Toris forced himself to get out of his bed. The sheets and quilt were drenched with sweat. Sighing, he changed out of damp pajamas and into dry clean ones. He stripped the bed, and rolling the sheets, he carefully opened his door to head down to the laundry room. He stopped in place when he noticed that Feliks's door was open, and three familiar voices drifted from downstairs.

"Stop fretting, sweetie. You two handled yourselves fine." It was Mrs. Łukasiewicz, her voice calming and soft.

"They won't come back, that can be sure," Mr. Łukasiewicz, firm as always.

"But they said there are more coming," it was Feliks, his voice high even as he attempted to whisper. "They _knew_ the family name!"

A pause, then Mr. Łukasiewicz, "There must have been a leak. I called into HQ as soon as you called me. There'll be an investigation, and in the mean time more agents will be posted to this area just in case 'Others' are coming."

The sheets in Toris's arms suddenly weighed a ton.

_What?_

"It's not enough!" Feliks raised his voice, and was hushed. In quieter, if still desperate tones he continued, "Liet is still talking about leaving. How can we protect him if he's out there on his own?"

"Did anything happen to him?" Mrs. Łukasiewicz asked. "He looked so pale before he went to bed." She sighed, "After all these years we still don't know what he's capable of …Surely those Others didn't notice anything about him?"

"They saw him, and that's enough!" Feliks snarled. "That overgrown giant grabbed me, and Liet somehow managed to push him away. They aren't going to forget him now. Once we notice each other we never forget." A pause. "I-I was real scared, and Liet was so confused. What if…what if they _do_ come…and Liet decides he wants to go with them?"

"He won't," said Mr. Łukasiewicz. "He might be intrigued, but that boy knows where's his home, who's his family." A pause, and then softer, "He doesn't have a say in the matter right now, we are still his guardians until he reaches adult age. Until then, we will continue to convince him to stay. Otherwise, he won't make it past the highway. Agents _will_ be picked him up and he _will_ be taken to a facility. If that happens, Feliks, you know we cannot protect him. Our mission is to keep you two here not matter what. "

"And those two Others?" Feliks asked in a soft voice. "Were the Agents able to capture them?"

"Unfortunately-"

Toris stepped away, shrinking back into his dark room, and slowly closing the door and blocking out those damning voices below. His arms still wrapped around his sheets, he sank down to the floor and pressed his back against the door, knees bending and curling in from of him.

It was cold.

His breath shuddered in his chest, and he let his eyes shut the dark room from sight. Air went into his lungs and out, and he let his mind drift back…back to a snow covered road stained in blood, a car with headlights on twisted and speared by mountains of ice, thin arms around him and a cold nose touching his neck.

"It's a secret," he whispered to the dark.

And in his mind, a pale boy smiled, _"Yes, a secret."_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I love this story. I love the plans I have for this story. I love the characters that I write for this story. I hope you guys reading are enjoying it as much as I am. My only request is, if you love it, if you are intrigued by it, if it tickles your fancy, review. Comment. Babble.

This chapter is dedicated to my two reviewers: Miikaan and Lmon Ldy. Thank you guys so, so much!

Oh! And I think Poland would do very, very well in a cat fight. Rawr.

_Next Time: The others arrive…and they are __**not**__ forgiving…_


	4. Chapter 3: Monsters Under the Bed

**A/N:** Dammit…I was planning to get to the violence in this chapter but then realized that the chapter had reached 8 pages and was only halfway through…leaving me no choice but to cut the chapter in to. So…my preview from the last chapter was a bit premature. Sorry guys . Also, I apologize about the grammatical mistakes in the last chapter. I swear I went over it twice before posting, but I guess was too excited to let the chapter sit for a day before giving it one more look over.

This chapter is dedicated to my two reviewers: **Cat** and **Lmon Lady**. LOVE YOU GUYS SO SO MUCH!

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine. Languages other than English are curtsey of Google Translate.

**Pairings:** Russia/Lithuania (main). Other pairings will make appearances.

**Warnings: **This is not a very nice story. Violence of both supernatural and human kind. Nonconsensual sexual situations, some that might include minors. Drug use, gangs, and prostitution…

**Chapter Warning: **T for gruesome scene at the end of this chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Monsters<strong>  
><em>Chapter Three: Monsters Under the Bed<em>

"We never see other people anyway, only the monsters we make of them."  
><em>Colson Whitehead, Zone One<em>

Toris was not accustomed to paranoia. It was a tiring emotion, where he felt his nerves were stretched like old rubber bands. The elastic fibers were frayed from repetitive use, and soon they would be stretched to an abusive limit and snap. One could always tie the broken ends together, but the edges were irreparable, and it would be only through pity that the rubber band would not be discarded in the trash.

That was what he felt, paranoia eating at his insides as was watched his family.

Breakfast as always was loud and boisterous. Mr. Łukasiewicz had his paper down on the table, forgotten as he leaned over on one arm and spoke to his wife. Mrs. Łukasiewicz had a spoon of oatmeal hovering in front of her mouth. She was too much of a lady to take a bite until her husband was finished talking to her. Feliks sat beside her, humming a tune as danced his eaten toast through scrambled eggs, up into the air, and then down and then pop into his mouth. Even with his cheeks full of breakfast Feliks still managed to happily hum, butter greased fingers now wagging side to side.

It was a happy scene. Familiar scene. One that for the last couple of years Toris had seen almost every morning. Usually, Toris would be leaning over the table, chastising Feliks for his lack of etiquette, or slipping his chair closer to Mr. Łukasiewicz so that he could discuss with his foster father about the morning headlines. Mrs. Łukasiewicz would touch him; on his shoulder, his chin, small fingers through his hair, as she smiled proudly at him. Truly, it was a happy scene.

But Toris was far from happy. His stomach burned, and he felt ill even as he forced himself to chew on his warm oatmeal. Mrs. Łukasiewicz had poured some honey on top, her eyes showing worry but not voicing her concerns. He ate with guilt twisting his heart, for her kindness was wasted on him. He looked at his family – and they _were_ his family – with suspicion and growing fear. It had been weeks since that incident with the two strangers that came looking for Feliks, and still nothing had changed. There were no more intruders who asked curious yet frightening questions. Toris did not stumble upon his family secretly plotting whilst they thought him asleep. He did not spot any alleged "agents" guarding the farm roads, or even posted at the front gates of their school.

His classmates said, "Hi Toris!", "Whatcha up to, Toris?", "Can I copy your homework, Liet?" The last one was Feliks, who continued to hound him like before, clinging to his side, laughing and giggling and talking about such inane things that Toris could only look at his foster brother and wonder if he had dreamed up that day. Had it been his imagination that Feliks stood toe to toe with a giant man and snarled at him to get away from them?

Mr. and Mrs. Łukasiewicz carried on their days like nothing happened at all. They did not disappear, and even when Toris took refuge in his haystack he was never questioned about his whereabouts.

Other than concern over his paling skin, and dark color beneath his eyes, everything was as it had been before.

And Toris knew that it was wrong. It was just that he had been too naive and foolish to realize before the little things that should have stuck out as alarming.

On the Warsaw Farm, there were only the animals and the four of them. There were no day workers. There were no friends over for tea or dinner or supper or a game of cards. There were no girls ever brought home to flirt with. They did not own a computer to check email. There was the television with cable where Feliks loved to watch his dramas and reality TV, but any news channels were password blocked. Even the newspaper that Mr. Łukasiewicz read every single morning was local, and it barely mentioned anything outside the town and the surrounding farmlands.

They were cut off. _He_ was cut off. Happy and warm and completely oblivious to his surroundings.

"Jeez Liet, what did your oatmeal do to you?"

Toris looked up and across the table. Feliks hand one knee curled in front of him, his plate empty. Toris's oatmeal had barely been touched and already looked cold.

"Is your stomach still bothering you?" asked Mrs. Łukasiewicz. She had pulled up her hair into a bun at the top of her head. Stray strands of golden wheat curled around her small ears and delicate neck. Her hands looked a bit worn and chapped, red tinged from hours of scrubbing dishes and cleaning house. She wore a gold wedding band, mirroring Mr. Łukasiewicz's thick gold ring.

Mr. Łukasiewicz cleared his throat and stood up, collecting his and his wife's plates. "Must be the cold weather. Makes a man susceptible to fatigue. You should go out for a run around the grounds. Once your blood gets pumping you'll feel better."

"Actually," Toris said, "I was wondering if you could drive me to town. I have some work to do on a computer."

For just an instant, so quick that had Toris not been looking – not known what to look for - he would have missed it. The half second of silence, the exchange of wary eyes and glances between the Łukasiewicz family members.

Finally, Mr. Łukasiewicz looked at him. "What do you need a computer for?"

"College applications. Most of them are supposed to be submitted online. I also need to do some research on residency. The closest university is a three hour drive from here. Dorming on campus might be too expensive, so I was thinking of looking at the apartments and houses around the area, to see if there are student housings where I could share a room with other students."

Feliks stood up suddenly, slamming his palms flat against the table. "Liet!" he shouted, "Why are you always…"

"I'm sorry, sweetie," interrupted Mrs. Łukasiewicz. She too had stood up, but with more reserve. She came around the table and reached forward, placing her hand on Toris's forehead. "Just as I expected," she sighed, "You're running a bit of a fever."

Toris swallowed thickly, looking up at the woman whom he thought of as a second mother. "I don't feel like I have a fever."

She smiled gently and cupped both his cheeks in her warm hands. She bent at her waist and pressed her forehead to his, and for a second held herself close to him. With a tsk, she stood and firmly patted one of his cheeks. "Don't argue with a woman when she says one of her men has a sick and too proud to admit it. You march yourself back upstairs and get into bed. You can go to the library tomorrow as long as you are feeling better."

"I'm feeling fine," Toris argued softly, looking up at her pleadingly as he felt knives in his stomach rip his insides to shreds.

"You're such a terrible liar, Toris," she laughed, pulling him reluctantly up to his feet. "How are you supposed to woo a pretty girl with such an honest face?"

With a gentle pull, Toris was guided out of the kitchen, ushered upstairs and tucked firmly into bed. Mrs. Łukasiewicz kissed his forehead and said that she'd be back to check up on him in an hour or so, so he had better be asleep or else.

Toris thanked her, and watched her shut the door. He kept his eyes trained on the shadows of her feet under the door, and it was after nearly ten minutes did she finally walk away.

Finally able to breath, he pulled the quilt over his head and pressed his hands over his eyes.

**~~~mOnStErS~~~sReTsNoM~~~**

"Hey Liet, wake up you bum."

It was Christmas Day.

During the month of December Mr. Łukasiewicz and Toris cut down a Christmas tree, slaved over cutting wood for the fireplace, and broke their backs shoveling the mountains of snow that blanketed the farm. Feliks and Mrs. Łukasiewicz decorated the house, wrapped gifts, and made seasonal cakes and cookies to sell in town.

For the first time since coming to live on Warsaw Farm, neither Feliks nor Toris accompanied Mr. Łukasiewicz to town.

"You haven't looked your best lately," Mr. Łukasiewicz explained to Toris after the boy politely asked him. "And Feliks will drive me crazy if you're not there to balance him out."

Toris did not question him why Feliks and Toris were never left alone on the farm again after that incident. He did not voice anything about applying for colleges, and did not ask to be taken to town for any errand. He did not ask, he did not inquire, settling into an unsettling routine watching the people he loved watch him.

At school, his classmates and teachers smiled and greeted him, but not once was he pulled aside for a private conversation. Cheerful faces, happy sounds, all sounding empty and hallow, echoing in a dark hole of deceit that Toris could not wrap his mind around. On the farm he did his chores, and watched his foster parents always answer the phone on the first ring. He could feel their stares when he was at a distance on the field. His hairs sticking up on end when he reclined in the haystacks.

Even the little golden cat, its warm body and soft fur could not relax him when she came to him in his few moments of solitude. And sometimes, that maddening paranoia had Toris staring at the feline's green eyes and feeling a shiver of familiarity in them…

…As if the cat was watching him too…

Toris wondered if this was what it felt like to go mad.

Feliks was pulling at his quilt, yelling at him _to get the hell up there are, like, presents to open and dammit I couldn't open mine until you're downstairs too so get up get up getup!_

Swinging his arm, Toris lurched upward, giving his foster brother a baleful look. The blond did not move from his position next to the bed until Toris stood and made his slow way to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. In the small mirror over the sink, he saw the face of someone he no longer recognized. Pale skin where it was supposed to be tanned from the sun and hard work, dark shadows under his eyes from restless sleep, lips that usually had an easy smile now were pinched with the edges dipping downward. He looked like a man doomed. A pitiful fool who had thought he had the world when in reality he was just a pawn in someone else's twisted game.

"Liet! Come ON!"

The gift exchange was always a simple yet happy event. Each person individually went up to the tree, picked the gifts they had gotten and delivered it in hand to their intended. As always, when Toris came down the stairs he found his foster family waiting excitedly for him. He too his place next to a giddy Feliks, and after a short discussion (in which Feliks whined pitifully through) Toris was chosen to exchange his gifts first.

He had taken a woodshop class and an elective in school, and found that he had quite a knack for creatively carving intricate figurines. For a midterm final he carved his Christmas gifts for his family. He gave to his foster parents a wolf pack running, two adults at the front, and two cubs following on their guardians heels. Mrs. Łukasiewicz gasped and admired his details, while Mr. Łukasiewicz gave him a hearty pat on the back. He had taken extra care at carving the thick seeming tufts of fur, and gave the cubs large eyes that stared right at their elders backs.

For Feliks he had carved a phoenix, its wings spread like a bright flame. He had looked up for reference pictures at the library at school, and was quite proud of his ability to carve the delicate feathers of the spread wings. His teacher had been impressed by his achievement and had asked him if he would like to display it on the school halls. Toris had rejected the offer, for this gift of a bright burning bird was far too special to be displayed for public eyes that would never understand.

His foster brother held the delicate figure in front of him, and arched a thin brow. "I always thought of myself more like a cat than a bird. Like, they have nine lives and all. What's more fabulous than that?"

"A phoenix is reborn from its own ashes," Toris could not look at him when he said this.

Feliks gave him an apologetic look, "You're too sentimental for me, Liet. I don't get what you were thinking, but I like it. It's pretty."

Toris did not know what he was thinking either anymore. He could not even attempt to elaborate.

The Łukasiewicz's gave Feliks his gift next, a beautiful hand-knitted shawl, with matching gloves and hat. Little brown ponies were sown in as decorations, Feliks' favorite animal which the farm did not own. He had gotten the idea of owning ponies after reading in the history books how horses were used at times of war. For some reason, he was determined to prove that ponies were just as super cool as horses. Toris did not get it, and did not try to think too much about the way his foster brother's mind worked.

"Toris, it's your turn!"

Toris blinked and looked up at Feliks offering him a brightly wrapped flat present. He took it carefully from the blond, noting curiously at how if felt so light. Using a finger to peel the scotch tape from the edges, he unwrapped the gift to find a large yellow envelope. He glanced up at his foster parents who sat side by side, arms interlocked with each other, and Feliks sitting beside him, leaning a bit too close than necessary in excitement. Behind Feliks was the Christmas tree, glimmering under the artificial lights, a deep lush green, with happy red, green, and gold ornaments hanging from its branches.

The sight of it clawed at Toris's stomach, and he had to swallow the dread pushing up and threatening to him.

The envelope opened easily, and in it was a single sheaf of paper, thick, and yellowish in color. Its boarders were designed in gold and black, and on the bottom right was a golden seal. In bold black intricate font at the top was written "Certificate of Adoption".

Toris's heart beat rapidly against his chest, its thumps becoming more violent with every word that he read, "This is to certify that Toris LaurinaitisŁukasiewicz had been formally adopted into the Łukasiewicz family…" He stopped, unable to read any further, his name glaring up at him, his eyes feeling hot, and fire in his throat. It seemed like someone was roaring in his ears.

"…That's not my name," he said, staring down at the damning document in his hands.

"We changed it about a month ago," beamed Mrs. Łukasiewicz, "just before the adoption papers came through. It helps lessen the confusion when more official documents need to be authorized."

Feliks wrapped an arm around Toris's shoulders, resting the side of his head on his arm and nuzzling him. "Isn't it awesome, Liet? We're officially brothers now. You don't ever have to worry about leaving when your eighteen, or that you have to be on your own, or anything! We're like one hundred percent family!"

Toris looked to the top of Feliks's head, noting that parting of the strands on the center was a bit crooked, and then he lifted his eyes to the Christmas tree again.

He never felt more empty.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked the tree, barely feeling how the blond stiffened against him and pulled away.

"What's the matter, Liet?"

Toris grit his teeth and finally met his foster brother's eyes. "You, what are you so afraid of?" He stood and faced the two adults, not giving the other boy a chance to answer, "And you? What do you want?"

Mr. Łukasiewicz dark brows came together, while his wife's eyes became wide. "I'm not sure what you mean, Toris," said the man. His features were hard, guarded.

He opened his mouth, and then shut it, wanting to both yell and flee. Instead he held up the adoption certificate. "You never said anything. Not a word. You never asked me, or even gave me a clue what you were doing."

Mrs. Łukasiewicz stood up slowly, as if frightened that she might startle Toris. "It was supposed to be a surprise. We knew you were worried about having to leave when you reached legal age. We love you, and want you to be a part of our family not only in our hearts, but in name, and in papers."

Toris shook his head, and then pointed at the words, "You changed my _name_, and never said _anything_!" His voice was rising in agitation, and his grip on the certificate tightened. "How could you do this? What are you so scared of?" He flung the paper away from him, not bothering to glance at where it fell. He looked right up at Mr. Łukasiewicz who had stood up quickly at his dispatch of the proof of adoption. "You, Mr. Łukasiewicz, always say a man needs to face what he fears. So here I am, asking you, sir, why are you trying bind me here? What are you afraid of?"

Feliks was at his side, yanking angrily at his arm, and trying to pull him away from the man. "Liet, what the hell? Why are you acting like such a brat?"

He pushed at the other boy, sending him stumbling a step back. "Stop acting, Feliks! I'm not stupid!"

"Please, Toris, calm down…" begged Mrs. Łukasiewicz. "I think we need to stop before someone says something they regret. Its Christmas, and we should be enjoying ourselves. Why don't we step back and give ourselves a chance to cool off? I made some warm apple cider with cinnamon sticks."

Toris stared at them, seeing the worry, the confusion, and the carefully guarded expressions. They would continue this façade till the end. Even if Toris said what little he knew, they would deny, smile, and have breakfast together like they normally would. The lies would continue, in the hopes that Toris would once again be duped into believing them, and going back to his role as the dutiful adopted son of the Łukasiewicz family.

"You…" Toris swallowed, "you go ahead. I'm going to take a walk and cool down."

"But it's so cold outside," protested Mrs. Łukasiewicz, wringing her hands in front of her. Her husband placed a hand on her shoulder, but addressed Toris, "Perhaps the cold air will do you good. However I expect you back within the hour. It's too cold to fall asleep in your usual hiding place."

The young man nodded and turned away from the family. His hairs sticking on end, his heart racing, and something desperately telling him to _get out, get out, getout! _He put on his books, and coat, not bothering to zip up or even put on a shawl to protect himself from the cold. He did not look back at them, not wanting to see their worried expressions, for he knew beneath that concern was something far more calculative.

"Liet!" cried out Feliks. Toris paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Don't take too long, you jerk. I'm gonna wait for you so we can eat breakfast together, 'kay?"

Toris did not reply. He pushed the door open, and stepped outside.

It was snowing, and the air was frigid. There was no wind, allowing the snowflakes to fall leisurely to the ground, coating the land in a blanket of pure white. Toris's boots crunched in the undisturbed snow, leaving foot prints at his wake. He did not walk around to the back to his beloved haystack. No, he could not stand another moment of being watched. Instead he walked straight to the road, the small farmhouse and its covered lands at his back.

It had been snowing for hours, the inches accumulating so that the snow rose higher than Toris's ankles. The white snowflakes stuck to his cold face and hair, and his fingers slowly froze as he walked forward, not even trying to warm them in his pockets or to even attempt to close his coat. With every step, he felt his muscles burn, his heart beating loud, his blood singing in warning, _get out, get out, get out, out OUT. _

Mr. Łukasiewicz said that he expected him back within the hour. What if he did not return? What if he continued to walk until he was a frozen husk, body hard and frozen in position of him fleeing that house? Would the Łukasiewicz's call for help from the police and report him missing? Would they climb into the truck and drive into the dark night to look for him? If they found him, would they try to take him back, frozen as he was, unresponsive to all their attempts of warmth and love, false or true or whatever it was they truly felt for him?

Toris laughed, his cold breath clouding in front of him. And what would he do if taken back? Would he plaster a smile, and eat the delicious food, talk to Feliks, and accept the paternal love the family claimed they had for him…even if he knew it was false? Or would he run, leave, with no intention of every returning?

He steps slowed, and painfully cold hands clenched into fists.

Did he intend on returning? Could he force himself to pretend to believe all the lies, ignore the stares, and tolerate the isolation that was forced on him…?

Toris stopped, and looked up into the gray sky, letting the falling snow to kiss his cheeks and lashes. He shut his eyes and tried to think back, years long, so long ago. Strong shoulders under his legs, warm hands on him, holding him up, so far up; sweet voices and warm kisses on his cheeks. _Tėvas _and_ Motina. _Their names, and that language so unused that he could barely recall them...could no longer remember what their faces looked like, how they sounded, and how warm and safe he had felt so long ago...

...how warm and safe he felt with the Łukasiewiczs…

Toris blinked open his eyes, and looked back to the white road in front of him, noticing that there was something a few feet ahead slightly obscured by the snow. He approached the object, shivering as he slowly began to make out a black boot and blue jeans. Realizing that it was a person collapsed, he hastened his steps, opening his mouth to call out to the person…

…and instead yelled out in shock as he found a the body of someone who seemed to have exploded from the inside. Arms with peeled clawed fingers seemed to clutch as the husk of a chest, the flesh exposed to the pink muscle and white of the rib bones. Organs were exposed and strewn out in the snow beds, white and gray and iced over. The tattered clothes of what was once a coat and shirt were drenched in blood and tinged black on the edges as if burned. There was blood surrounding the body, dark brown in color and mostly hidden by the snowfall. The face, with the mouth wide open and teeth exposed was burned beyond recognition, screaming in agony even in death. The only parts that did not seem to be mutilated were the legs, sprawled wide.

Toris stumbled back, covering his mouth to hold back another terrified sound, and turned away from the horrible sight. His stomach turned, and for a moment he thought he would keel over and vomit what he had eaten for dinner the night before. He forced himself to breath in and out from his nose, taking in the cold air as he calmed himself.

_...Tėvas's hand, on him, bleeding on him, severed on him, Tėvas's hand..._

…_Motina __arched backwards, her body completely pierced through by a giant pillar of ice..._

Eyes widening in growing horror, Toris slowly turned around to face the road he had walked, to the direction of the Warsaw Farm. He could not see the house, and the tracks he had left in the snow were mostly covered. There was a man murdered, and he too was mostly covered by snow...

...were there tracks leading to the farm...?

...murderers tracks...?

"_There are more of us coming this way. They know about you, Łukasiewicz boy. They are not as forgiving as us."_

_Oh God, _Toris swore to himself, and without a second thought his feet were moving, running back the direction he had come. His heart pounding in panic and terror as the same instincts that told him to runaway were now desperately screaming one single name:

_FELIKS_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Ew, I did a cliffhanger .. HOWEVER I am on a role with writing (yay!). Classes start again next week (boo) but hopefully I can keep up with this pace. I will be updating my Spamano fic next, and then coming back to Monsters! Hopefully not too long of a wait ^_~

Please leave a review, babble, comment…etc! I love hearing from you!

_Next Time: The others arrive…and they are __**not**__ forgiving…_  
>(For real this time O.o)<p> 


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